


Insubordination

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-09
Updated: 2005-10-09
Packaged: 2018-10-27 10:25:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10807230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Asking Percy Weasley to break a rule was akin to asking the sun to rise in the west or birds to fly north for the winter. It simply wasn't done.





	Insubordination

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

Asking Percy Weasley to break a rule was akin to asking the sun to rise in the west or birds to fly north for the winter. It simply wasn't done.

Percy Weasley was a great believer in neatness. Organisation, whether at work or at home; was key to an orderly, uncomplicated existence. It was also key to his rise within the Ministry. His political education had begun with Barty Crouch Sr, had continued beneath the auspices of Cornelius Fudge, and his efforts were now blossoming under Rufus Scrimgeour's no-nonsense hand.

He had absorbed their lessons, learned from their triumphs and mistakes and especially the downfalls of his first two mentors. His life, his very existence, was proof of that absorption and distillation.

Rules were the very foundation of organisation. It created order from chaos, sanity from madness; it clearly delineated what was right and what was wrong. Rules were the key to happiness. It required discipline and control. It required dedication and clarity of vision.

Few people shared his life-view, something he found regrettable. The world would be a better place if people had more self-control over their actions and impulses, he believed, at home as well as at work.

The job of personal assistant to the Minister for Magic required a great deal of effort and spawned an even greater deal of paperwork; and his position was such that he had his own secretary to help ensure that things remained smoothly organised. Finding the right person had been a struggle, however. Percy had gone through four secretaries over the past eighteen months, the last quitting after only three weeks.

He thought he had finally found a kindred spirit in his current secretary, despite his initial reservations. He hadn't known Neville Longbottom well, despite the fact that he'd been in the same year as his brother Ron whilst at Hogwarts. The few times Ron had mentioned him during their school days hadn't been encouraging.

The adult, post-Hogwarts Neville Longbottom had been a pleasant surprise. He was quiet, respectful to his superiors, attentive, and tidy in both appearance and manner. He finished every task assigned in a timely manner, he never had so much as a quill out of place on his desk, and he had an uncanny knack for organisation. Neville, Percy noted with a small sense of awe, was the only person who wrote more lists than he did. Better still, if Ron was to be believed, Neville was as queer as a three-Galleon coin.

It made fantasising about him so much easier.

Going beyond fantasy was out of the question, unfortunately. Percy had spent enough time in the Ministry to have witnessed firsthand the things that happened when bosses lost their sense of self-control and propriety enough to seduce underlings. Broken marriages, broken trust, shoddy work…if they had only followed the rules, none of their personal misery would have happened.

Percy Weasley wasn't about to fall into that same trap. He wouldn't, no matter how much he liked the way Neville's robes stretched enticingly across broad shoulders, hinting at the solid build beneath, or the way he chewed on the end of his quill in thought before jotting down notes, or the way his eyes sometimes flashed just before lowering them after accepting another task with a murmured, "Yes, Mr Weasley. I'll have it done straightaway, sir," just before copying it into the folder where he kept his lists.

He was better than that. He hadn't come this far in his ambitions to let it all slip through his fingers just because he sometimes wondered how good Neville would feel around his cock.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Minister Scrimgeour was a hard taskmaster, obsessed with law, exacting in his demands, doled out praise sparingly, and was utterly intolerant of those who didn't pull their weight. Percy thought he could do no wrong.

He also was quick to reward a job well done, so when a long-sought trade agreement was reached with the Brazilian Ministry, he bought his entire staff tickets to the Quidditch League Cup championship match between the Caerphilly Catapults and the Falmouth Falcons.

Percy was ambivalent about the sport, but attended because not doing so could be construed as an affront to his boss' generosity. Sacrifice was sometimes necessary for advancement, he knew; and mingling with the other staff fell squarely under the rule of Playing Well with Others.

He simply hoped the match didn't last four days like last year's Cup final.

He made it a point to sit next to Neville in the stands, stifling his distaste for the rowdy crowd surrounding them. Longbottom, he noticed, watched the players go through their warm-up flights with almost unseemly enthusiasm.

"I haven't been to a Quidditch match in ages," he confessed, smiling widely as Percy made himself comfortable on the hard wooden bleacher. "I never really got over the disappointment in missing the World Cup when it was here several years ago. I think I was the only one from my year that didn't get to go."

"You didn't miss much, Longbottom," Percy muttered, remembering Bagman's ineptitude and being called Weatherby in front of his prankster twin brothers.

Percy remained seated as the match commenced, clapping politely whenever a goal was scored for either team (he wasn't a fan of either one), or murmuring compliments whenever a particularly daring play was made. Minister Scrimgeour was doing the same from his nearby seat, after all; and he wanted to prove that he was equally as capable of mastering his emotions. Never mind that his feeling at the moment leaned more toward boredom than excitement.

His secretary, on the other hand, showed no such restraint. Indeed, he'd never seen Longbottom quite so animated. He jumped and whooped and cheered as much, if not more than, the rest of the onlookers. It was like watching an entirely different person, someone who only looked like the Neville Longbottom he knew.

Another thought quickly followed: Did he really know Neville? Was this the real person, and the quietly deferential one he saw each day at work only a façade? Was he always this openly cheerful in front of everyone but him? Could it be that Neville wasn't quite so controlled and orderly as he'd believed?

Percy found this idea oddly distressing in a way he couldn't quantify or categorise, and that was even more upsetting, if possible. Moreover, he discovered as the match went on, he wanted to know more about this heretofore unprecedented facet of Neville's personality.

That realisation was frightening in its implications.

The match ended six hours later when Pwyll Conwy of the Catapults captured the Snitch, bringing the League Cup back to Caerphilly for the first time in over twenty years. The stands erupted in cheers and screams and impromptu renditions of the Welsh national anthem. Neville was so caught up in the moment he forgot himself completely and threw his arms around Percy, hugging him tightly.

Percy stiffened at the emotional display. For Merlin's sake, they were in public!

Neville seemed to realise this, because he drew back an instant later, his eyes properly downcast once more. "Sorry, sir," he said, his voice nearly inaudible amidst the wild celebration going on around them.

"I wasn't aware you were such a Catapults fan, Longbottom," Percy said dryly, gathering his cloak around him and trying not to think about how good the other man had felt during those scant few seconds they'd pressed against each other, how solid and reassuring.

"Oh, I'm not, not really," Neville replied, a thread of his former excitement re-entering his tone as he looked at Percy with bright eyes. "It's just that it's good to see the underdog win sometimes, you know?"

"I suppose." Percy wasn't about to admit he knew exactly what Neville was talking about. Hadn't it taken him years of hard work, effort and sacrifice to lift himself free from his parents' poverty, despite his name? He knew all about being an underdog.

Neville smiled, wrapping his own cloak around him as they left the pitch. "Well, it's past midnight. I'll see you tomorrow morning. Good night, Mr Weasley."

He Disapparated, leaving Percy with the memory of sparkling brown eyes, an ingenuous smile, and the remaining ghostly feel of Neville's chest pressed against his own.

Damn, damn, damn.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Neville brought Percy a cup of tea at precisely half three every afternoon. Unsweetened, with milk, just as he liked it. He set the cup and saucer down wordlessly as always and stood back, hands clasped before him, as always; until Percy took that first sip.

"Last night's match," Percy said, and Neville lifted an eyebrow. Percy rarely spoke to him unless he was dictating a letter or assigning one task or another.

"Yes, sir?"

"I wasn't aware you were capable of such…exuberance." Percy lifted the teacup to his lips and drank. It was perfect, as it always was since Neville had come to work for him.

Neville flushed beneath Percy's scrutiny, but didn't look away. "I'm capable of many things outside the office, sir," he replied evenly. "I have a life beyond work."

The teacup rattled the tiniest bit as Percy set it back on it saucer. "What, pray tell, is that supposed to mean, Longbottom?"

"It means," Neville said, as evenly as before, "that I have a life beyond work. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Are you implying that I don't have a life?" Percy asked. Of course he had a life, a very orderly, carefully controlled, reassuringly routine life.

"I've seen the way you look at me when you think I'm not watching."

Percy went very still.

"There's something to be said about being in the background," Neville went on conversationally, as if he and Percy were equals. "You see things; hear things a louder person would miss. You learn how to observe." He took a step forward. "I've been observing you."

"Have you, now." Percy got to his feet. He wasn't as broad through the chest and shoulders as Longbottom, but he was several inches taller. He'd used his height often enough to make people back down before. "What, exactly, have you observed about me?"

Neville didn't even flinch at the frostiness he surely had to have heard in Percy's voice, nor did he back down despite the fact that his boss---his superior---stood a head taller and was currently frowning authoritatively. Instead, he looked directly into Percy's eyes and answered, "You look as though you could use a little exuberance in your life."

And before Percy could process just what Neville meant by that, he'd closed the distance between them, pulled him down, and kissed him. Hard.

"Mmph," said Percy, which only served to part his mouth enough for Neville to gain entrance. His hands went to Neville's chest, intending to push him away, only to somehow end up clinging to him. He was sinking, the ground giving way beneath his feet as convictions cracked, rocked to the foundation of his soul as Neville's tongue stroked along his own.

He nearly moaned at the loss when the kiss ended. Neville drew back, hands cradling Percy's face, his expression serious, intent.

"You have two choices," he said. "You can have me sacked for insubordination; you're well within your rights to do so. I'll take my leave, we'll forget this ever happened, you'll probably never see me again except from a distance; and you'll always wonder what might have been."

There was a part of Percy that was tempted to do just that. It was what he should do, it was the right thing to do. Broken trust, shoddy workmanship, all that rot….Yes, sacking the other man for cheek and insubordination was the proper course of action.

"Or?" he found himself asking instead.

"Or," Neville answered, drawing Percy's head down to whisper, warm breath wafting against his ear, "I stay and give you a lesson in exuberance by fucking you until you forget your name."

Percy pulled away abruptly, shaking his head. "I don't bottom," he said stiffly. "I---" He closed his mouth with a snap before he could finish the sentence. I don't give up control for anyone.

He watched as Neville drew a slow, deep breath before nodding his acquiescence. "I'll go clean out my desk, then."

And he turned away.

Percy gasped, feeling as though he'd been punched in the gut, driving the breath from his lungs. Longbottom was leaving. Had actually turned around and was walking away from everything safe and known and secure.

His hand was on the door latch before Percy finally found his voice again.

"Longbottom."

Neville looked up, his face pale yet determined. He didn't speak, simply waited.

Percy swallowed his pride, swallowed his fear of the unknown, of not being the one who made all of the decisions and called all the shots. Holding out a hand he couldn't keep from trembling, he spoke two words.

"Stay. Please."

Neville's fingers slowly uncurled from around the door latch. "You're sure?" he asked quietly.

"Please." Percy swallowed again. "Please. Don't go."

Neville drew his wand from his robe pocket and cast Silencing charms around the room. Tucking it away, he retraced his steps until he stood once again in front of Percy. "All right, then."

And then Neville was kissing him again; light, feathery kisses that barely grazed his mouth, tongue flicking at the corners until Percy's lips parted in invitation, drawing him in. He didn't resist when Neville deepened the kiss, their lips slanting with increasing heat and urgency.

Neville slipped one hand between them, his fingers finding Percy's cock and stroking it lightly through his robes, smiling against Percy's lips when he moaned into his open mouth. Breaking the kiss, he slid his lips along Percy's jaw until he found his earlobe, nipping at the soft skin.

"I want to see you," he whispered. "I want you to undress for me while I watch."

Percy moaned again when Neville ran his tongue over his earlobe one last time before releasing him. He caught Percy's eyes as he reached for his robes with shaking fingers, undoing the clasps and shrugging it from his shoulders, letting the heavy fabric pool around his feet. Kicking the garment aside, Percy moved on to his crisp white shirt, then the expensive grey wool trousers, toeing off his carefully shined shoes before stepping out of the trousers. Still looking at Neville, he bent and removed his socks before straightening, his arms at his sides, trying and failing to prevent the blush creeping across his face and chest. He'd never felt so exposed, so vulnerable.

Neville touched his tongue to his bottom lip, his own cheeks flushed. "You're…wow."

Percy's blush deepened as Neville took him gently and turned him around, his hands warm as they kneaded at his arse. "Bend over the desk," Neville said hoarsely, "and spread your legs for me."

The voice was still quiet, almost disbelievingly shy, yet Neville's tone also held a note that made Percy want to obey. He bent, hands gripping the desk's edges, his cheek pressed against the polished mahogany; widening his stance as instructed. He heard a rustle of cloth, jumping slightly when Neville's palms touched the backs of his thighs.

"Sshhh, it's all right," Neville murmured. "It's going to be all right."

Percy forced himself to relax as Neville's hands grazed along his thighs, back to his buttocks, spreading them apart. He squeezed his eyes shut, wondering what was going to happen; and gasped when Neville licked along his cleft, circling around the puckered flesh of his anus. The sensation was amazing, incredible. Percy panted, wriggling against the waves of pleasure, his fingers tightening against the desk as Neville kissed, licked and sucked his hole.

Neville reached around, his tongue still working its magic, one hand closing around Percy's balls. He rolled them around his palm, fondling and stroking them, his thumb sliding along Percy's perineum over and over again. Percy's hips jerked, thrusting uncontrollably against the desk. He'd never been so damn hard in his life. Reaching down, he tried to take his cock in his hand, only to have Neville lightly slap it away. He heard someone moaning loudly, the sound raw and guttural; and realised that the noise was coming from him.

That delicious wet warmth on his hole retreated; and Percy's knees nearly buckled. Neville stroked one arse cheek in silent reassurance, his own breathing light and fast against Percy's skin. He heard Neville whisper a charm, and moments later felt cool, slick liquid being massaged into heated flesh, felt a blunt finger slip deep into him, thrusting and turning inside him with attentive care.

A second finger joined the first, curling and sliding and oh, Merlin, criss-crossing inside him. Percy gasped, mewling, pressing back against the maddeningly slow thrust of Neville's fingers stroking his channel, begging wordlessly for faster harder more…

"Like that, do you?" Neville breathed, his fingers crooking and hitting a spot that made Percy see stars, his mind going blank with pleasure.

"Ngh…oh…oh…ngh…" Percy pushed back against Neville's hand, trying to increase the speed.

"I'll take that as a yes," Neville said, and slid a third finger into him, tearing a cry of pure need from Percy's throat.

Percy thought he'd never felt such intensity of feeling as Neville stretched him, his fingers repeatedly gliding over his prostate, making him sob and shudder. The touch of Neville's lips at the base of his spine was like a brand, sending sparks shooting through him.

He moaned when Neville withdrew his fingers, moaned even more loudly when he felt something hard and blunt press against his entrance, pushing into him inch by slow, careful inch. Percy whined, gasping at the stretch and burn as Neville took possession of him, his hands caressing the small of his back in soothing circles.

"You're so tight," Neville groaned once he was fully seated inside him, as Percy clenched around his length. "Fuck, Percy, I've done virgins who weren't this tight…"

"I've only…ever topped," Percy confessed, gasping, still trying to acclimate himself to that alien fullness stretching his arse. Cautiously, he pushed his hips back, feeling Neville's cock move slightly, gliding over the lubrication slicking his channel; and was rewarded by another groan from Neville's throat.

"Fuck, Percy…" For the first time Percy heard his own need echoed in Neville's strained voice. "Fuck…you should've…said something…"

He pushed Percy's shoulders forward, one hand leaving his hip to wrap around his aching cock, stroking it roughly; and once again Percy found himself unable to think of anything more than the pleasure of that hot, slippery palm moving up and down his length…

…and then Neville was thrusting into his arse, and he couldn't think at all. There was only the feel of Neville's cock, rubbing against his prostate with each stroke, the heat of Neville's hand wrapped around his own cock, his own movements as he rocked back into each thrust before pushing forward into Neville's hand and he had never felt so good, so consumed with pleasure and want and pure, unadulterated need and oh Merlin he was going to come….

Percy howled, his hands scrabbling over the desk's surface, knocking quills and sheets of parchment into disarray as his balls contracted and he came, his hips jerking of their own volition as he spilled over Neville's hand, spilled onto the desk, sticky and warm and oh so good, so fucking good.

Neville released his cock in favour of gripping his hips, his nails digging into the soft skin as his thrusts became harder, faster, more arrhythmic, his breathing harsh and uneven. He slammed into Percy, once, twice more before coming himself with a low cry, bending over Percy's back and covering his shoulders with hot, open-mouthed kisses.

They lay there against the desk, breathing heavily for several long moments before Neville withdrew from Percy, pulling him upright. He wrapped his arms around Percy's waist, still mouthing soft kisses along his shoulders and spine.

"I should still have you sacked for insubordination, you know." Percy's voice sounded drugged to his own ears.

Neville chuckled weakly, the sound vibrating against Percy's skin. "You could, but you won't."

Percy turned within Neville's embrace, looking down into brown eyes as dazed with pleasure as his own must have been. "You sound very sure of that."

"Of course I am." Neville pressed his lips to Percy's chest. "I was going to let you top next time. That is, once I finish making copies of that trade agreement. I ought to have that done by the end of the day." He looked up at Percy, smiling. "Sir."


End file.
